Coming and Going
by ohmytheon
Summary: Seven days in, not a single complaint, not a single protest, not a single question about it. And then, on the seventh night, as Furiosa stands up to leave, words of more work to do ready on her lips, Max reaches out to snatch her wrist like a rattlesnake. "Please, don't leave."


Author's Notes: So I randomly filled out some fic prompts tonight. This one: "Please, don't leave." & Max/Furiosa.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned this stuff. All thanks to George Miller.

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 **Coming and Going**

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He comes back in the night, something she expected. It's been months, something she also expected.

What she doesn't expect is the way he looks at her, like it's been years since he's tasted water and she's a cool river under a shade of trees. He doesn't say anything at first, just twists his mouth into something that resembles a grin like he's chewing on all the words he can't get out of his head, and waves a hand in the direction of a bag filled with precious ammo and weapons.

She can't help but remember when he'd faded away into smoke to face the Bullet Farmer on his own and then appeared bloody and victorious with the remains of the man's glory. So many days have passed since then, but the memory is clear as day. _"Then you go,"_ he said back when she'd asked what to do if he didn't return in time, as if was as simple as that. She had thought it was simple at first, that muzzled man with his wild eyes and jerky movements, but it wasn't.

It still isn't. Leaving him behind stopped being an option ages ago, even if he was the one to disappear on her.

She doesn't fault him for that either. There were too many voices crowding his head then - and she's certain that they're still there from the way the light in his eyes fades sometimes - but he's here now and that's all that matters. She breathes a little easier, though she can't remember ever holding her breath before.

Words come to him eventually, mostly clipped questions about the Citadel and how she's running the place. He follows her around on her daily routines, a bit like a curious puppy, but doesn't interrupt her. Only when there's a gap in her speaking does he fill the space with his own questions, as if he knows just when to break in. It's an easy come and go, one that she isn't used to. After all, she is the leader and while the War Boys aren't War Boys anymore and the War Pups aren't War Pups, they still are and it's hard to break them of that without breaking them completely. They still need a leader and even if Immortan Joe is dead, Furiosa is their leader now.

He doesn't see her in that way though, even if he does look at her differently than the rest. He stops following on her heels and starts walking beside her on the second day without her asking him. He even gives out a few suggestions of his own, timidly so at first and mostly about defense, as he's seen more of the outside world than she has these past few months, and she accepts them readily. He opens slowly, but as he does, it's like a breath of fresh air. She realizes for the first time on the third day that she was missing something and maybe that something was him. It's a strange, fleeting thought.

The days are easy. The nights…not so much.

He looked so ragged that first day and she could tell right away that he hadn't had a proper sleep in years. Not even when they traveled the Fury Road together did he sleep well. And so she gave him her room. She never told him it was her room, but she knew he'd figure it out well enough. They'd share a cup of mother's milk - because he could stand to gain some nutrients - and then she'd meander off with words of a few more things to do before turning in for the night. He'd look at her with a guarded gaze, fingers tapping at his sides, but would never say a word. Furiosa never minded giving up her room. She'd share a room with one of the girls, usually Toast or Capable, all of whom were none too good at hiding their curiosity about him and whatever was going on between the two of them.

Seven days in, not a single complaint, not a single protest, not a single question about it. And then, on the seventh night, as Furiosa stands up to leave, words of more work to do ready on her lips, Max reaches out to snatch her wrist like a rattlesnake. "Please, don't leave."

Max blinks quickly, as if confused by the words that escaped him, and it takes Furiosa a few seconds to work out that he actually said them. She doesn't know what to say. If she didn't know any better, she'd almost say that he looks…embarrassed.

He makes a face like a grimace and lets go of her wrist. "Sorry, I shouldn't have…" He shouldn't have grabbed her. She'd knocked men out unconscious for less. He's always been so careful about touching her and if he ever brushed up against her without meaning to, he always apologizes. It makes her want to roll her eyes sometimes, but still she appreciates it. His eyes dart away from hers, first to the ground and then to the ceiling, like he's trying to find what to say that will make sense of his sudden change. "It's weird. Sleeping in a…bed. Too soft. Too open. Leaves room for…you know."

She does know and an old ache that she'd thought she'd left behind when she first took the Five Wives away from the Citadel comes roaring back, throbbing in her chest. When she looks at Max now, she sees him when he snapped awake in the War Rig, practically growling, fist clenched, his teeth bared like an animal's. She knows how nightmares come crawling in the night and it's so easy for them to find you when you fall into that deep sleep. Her first month back in the Citadel was all nightmares, reminding her of her first years after she'd been taken.

"Okay, then I won't go," Furiosa says simply, moving to sit down on the bed next to him.

There's a nervous, frantic energy about him, one that suggest he's not going to be able to sleep even if he wants to. She doesn't mind though. The moon hasn't been up for that long and if he needs her to stay awake all night with him so the voices of the dead don't come knocking, she'll do that. It's the least she can do.

In a way, it's kind of funny - him asking her not to leave when he did it himself, when she knows that soon she'll wake up and find that he's gone again - but she only allows herself a small smile. He'll come back and the times in between his leavings will grow shorter and his face will be a little more open and his words a little more spoken. He won't be so distant and the voices will be a little less strong until the only voice in his head is his own. He'll come back to her, dirty and bloody and maybe even grinning with that awkward thumbs up that he sometimes gives when something pleasantly surprises him.

And so she doesn't leave, not that night or the next or any of the nights after that while he's there, even though he doesn't ask again. Because in the end, the nightmares leave her too, and she can finally rest.


End file.
